Along Cornfields and the Brandywine
by bronwe-iris
Summary: For Frodo Baggins, growing up with his cousin Merry in Brandy Hall can be difficult, especially when he's often known as nothing more than that "troublesome Baggins." But when an accident causes him to meet a strange human who calls himself a Ranger, things start to get a bit more exciting – and dangerous – for the young hobbit.
1. Chapter 1

**So with the whole age thing. In the books, Frodo is 14 years older than Merry, and Merry is 8 years older than Pippin. Because my story is already going to be slightly AU, I'm going to change their age differences up a bit (Peter Jackson kinda did, so what the heck I guess). **

**In my story, Frodo is about 14 years old in human years. And Merry is about 8 years old in human years. Pippin (if he makes an appearance) will be about 3 years old in human years. If Sam makes an appearance, he'll be about 11 years old in human years.**

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"I don't know about this, Frodo."

Merry, the younger of the two hobbits standing at the edge of a large cornfield, looked up at this cousin warily.

The taller hobbit waved his hand absently. "You worry too much, Merry. I've done this countless times."

"Yeah, but you're faster than me," insisted Merry. "And you know your way around every farm field within sight of Brandy Hall, and some even beyond that!"

Frodo shrugged, unable to hide the smug grin on his face. "Come on, Merry. You and I do stuff like this all the time. Besides," he said, his voice taking on a more mocking tone. "I have to pass my talents onto _someone_ before I leave Brandy Hall to have my own adventures. Like the ones Uncle Bilbo tells us about."

Merry almost sighed at that. How Frodo loved Bilbo's stories. Whenever the older hobbit would visit, it was the one thing Frodo looked forward to most, hearing those stories. Ever since he had first heard them, Frodo had planted the idea in his head that he too would grow up to battle dragons, face off against giant spiders, and traverse on long, dangerous journeys with great warriors. Merry wasn't so inclined to the idea of leaving Buckland for such adventures; he much preferred his own "distant lands" that bordered the BrandwineRiver and didn't run much further than that.

Merry frowned. Knowing his older cousin, Frodo would never let him live it down if he didn't go to Maggot's farm with him. Besides, what's the harm in taking a few mushrooms? They might not even see Farmer Maggot. "Fine." He narrowed his eyes at his cousin. "But you better be telling the truth about those mushrooms. The _biggest _you've ever seen, right?"

Frodo smiled triumphantly.

"And on one condition," Merry added. He crossed his arms haughtily, a sly glint in his eyes. "You have to take me fishing afterwards."

"Deal," Frodo said immediately. "That is, if we survive Maggot's guard dogs."

Merry's smirk instantly dropped from his face. "Wh-what?"

But Frodo was already pushing through the first row of corn.

"Frodo!" Merry called as he stumbled after the taller hobbit. "You didn't say anything about _dogs!_ _Frodo!_"

/

The cornfield was much larger than Merry had realized. It seemed to go on for hours – though Merry knew this wasn't the case – row upon endless row of corn rising up in every direction as the two hobbits trekked through it. However, as overwhelming as it was, Merry wasn't lost. He'd always had an excellent sense of direction, and it didn't fail even in the never-ending corn rows. He followed Frodo confidently, knowing that his cousin would know the way also, though that was simply because of the number of times Frodo had walked through the field. Without that, Frodo would've been miserably lost. Though he refused to acknowledge the fact, Frodo had a terrible sense of direction. Merry had no problem reminding Frodo of this whenever the two would go on their little adventures together, much to Frodo's irritation.

Merry looked up through the intertwining cornstalks high above his head. The early afternoon sun watched lazily from above, making it quite warm as the two hobbits pushed their way through the field. Merry swept a handful of tangled curls away from his face, hoping for a slight breeze to brush against the flushed skin.

Frodo came to a sudden halt in front of Merry. "Quiet down," hissed Frodo. Merry froze, the sounds of his feet trampling through the cornfield dying away.

Frodo rolled his eyes. "Elbereth, Merry! You're so loud when you walk, it's a wonder Maggot hasn't set his dogs on us already."

"You talk about that as if it's bound to happen, no matter what we do," Merry muttered crossly.

Frodo shrugged. "I know how to out-run them."

"Like that one time Maggot actually caught you, and then gave you a good lashing before sending you running all the way back to Brandy Hall?" Merry asked, his tone slyly innocent.

Frodo shot Merry a glare. "That was one time," he huffed. "And I was a lot younger. About your size, actually." He eyed Merry up and down, a teasing grin flashing across his face. "Perfect chewing size for Maggot's dogs."

Merry stuck his tongue out at Frodo. Frodo chuckled and pushed back the final row of corn, revealing Farmer Maggot's farm, Bamfurlong. Merry made his way to Frodo's side, careful where he walked so as to avoid any leaves that would crunch loudly if stepped on. The two young hobbits peered out of the cornfield, blinking against the bright sunlight.

Rows of cabbages, carrots, and other various vegetables spread out before them. Beyond the rows was a fenced-in grass field where five ponies could be seen grazing calmly. To the left was a large barn.

"Right," said Frodo. "Maggot's farm has mushrooms almost anywhere you can pick a vegetable, but those are usually the skimpy ones. There are two places that have the best ones, and a _lot _of them." Frodo pointed towards the ponies' fence. "One patch is between the pony fence and the barn."

"But that's right out in the open!" protested Merry.

"A few years ago it wasn't. It was lined with bushes tall enough for someone your size to hide in. But that's where Maggot caught me, so I guess he took them down to prevent any more _thieves_." Frodo said the last word with a tone of mock horror, a smirk slipping onto his face. Clearly, he was quite unconcerned with the farmer's efforts to keep unwanted visitors out of his farm.

Frodo turned and motioned to the other side of the farm. Beyond the vegetable rows, the grassy ground dropped over the edge of large hill. A little ways down the slope a large tree could be seen. "The second patch is below that tree," Frodo said. He paused, glancing towards the barn. Seeing no sign of activity, Frodo suddenly launched himself from the corn.

Merry cried out in surprise. "Frodo!" After a moment's hesitation, he ran out after his cousin. Together, the two hobbits flew across the short distance between the cornfield and the vegetable rows. Upon reaching the first line of cabbages, Frodo threw himself to the ground to hide within the vegetation. Merry quickly followed suite, both hobbits sending dust flying into the air as they landed.

"Nice sprinting, for a hobbit with such short legs," Frodo said cheerfully, once he had caught his breath. Reaching out, he gave his cousin a playful slap on the shoulder.

A puff of dust exploded from the shirt sleeve, making Merry scrunch up his nose to resist sneezing. "Watch it!" Merry said, once the urge to sneeze had passed. "Once I reach my tweens, I'll grow right past you in height."

"Right," said Frodo sarcastically. "Meriadoc Brandybuck, tallest of all the hobbits in Buckland, no, the _Shire!_" He snickered, to which Merry responded by sticking out his tongue at his cousin.

Frodo glanced at the tree in the distance, Merry following his gaze. Joking with Frodo had somewhat eased Merry's fears about being caught, and the promise of delicious mushrooms was starting to gnaw at him and his grumbling stomach. "Come on, Baggins! You're too slow for me, you old hobbit!" The next second, the small hobbit had jumped to his feet, and was running as fast as he could towards the large tree.

"Oi!" Frodo scrambled up from the ground and raced after his cousin.

The two reached the tree at the same moment, Frodo easily catching up to Merry. Diving beneath the low branches, they burst into laughter, clutching their sides as they rolled against each other. Out of the corner of Merry's eye he spotted the large patch of mushrooms Frodo had promised. He sat up in excitement and lunged for them, scooping up an armful in one swipe. "Whoa! You weren't kidding, Frodo! These are _huge!_"

Frodo sat up with a satisfied grin. "Told you," he said proudly.

But Merry was hardly listening, as he was too preoccupied with the mushrooms in his hands and mouth. The cousins leaned against the tree, content with eating their spoils in the reliving shade.

"Who goes there? Show yourselves!"

Frodo and Merry started, both dropping mushrooms in surprise.

"Of course," Frodo muttered, upon recognizing the haggard voice.

"We're doomed," squeaked Merry.

The sound of vicious barking suddenly erupted from over the top of the hill. The next moment, three large black dogs stood at the top of the grassy slope. Behind them was a middle-aged, furious-looking hobbit. He was holding a rake, which he began to wave wildly. Spotting the two youngsters hiding beneath the tree branches, he growled and began walking forward.

"What will it take for me to –" Farmer Maggot froze, staring at Frodo. Frodo smiled sheepishly and gave a half-wave. "_You!_" Maggot shouted in fury. Scowling, he swung his arm up, pointing at the two thieves. "Get 'em, boys!"

"Time to go!" exclaimed Frodo. He sprung to his feet and began running down the hill as fast as his feet would move, pulling a screaming Merry after him. The dogs gave chase, barking ferociously.

"We're going to die!" wailed Merry. He struggled to keep up with his cousin, whose legs were much longer. Frodo cast an exasperated glance back at Merry; noticing he was falling behind, Frodo seized one of the small arms and pulled him after him.

"Not today, cousin!" Frodo shouted, leading Merry to a narrow foot-pressed pathway that swerved to the right of the sloping hill. Looking up, Merry saw a small grove of apple trees in front of them. Without hesitation Frodo dove into it, pulling Merry after him.

The two continued to run, the three dogs still in pursuit. Merry didn't dare look back, scared to see how far away or close the dogs were. Frodo swerved around a rather large apple tree; still running, he leapt into the air and with a loud whoop, snatched an apple off of a low branch as he passed beneath it. With the fruit in one hand and his cousin in the other, Frodo burst through the last line of the apple trees back into the open fields.

Merry gasped for breath, not sure how much longer he could keep up with Frodo. "Frodo –"

"Straight ahead, Merry!" Frodo urged. "Come on!"

Merry tore his eyes away from his feet, pulling his head up to look past his cousin's arm. There in front of them was a narrow river. It wasn't the BrandywineRiver, but was one of the smaller rivers that branched into it. And, to Merry's amazement, an empty wooden raft was pulled up to the shore.

"Get on!" Frodo commanded, pushing Merry in front of him. Merry immediately jumped onto the raft, the weight of his landing giving it a slight push into the river. He turned around, and saw to his horror that the three dogs were nearly to the riverbank, where Frodo was still standing.

"Frodo! The dogs!" Merry yelled. Frodo leaped forward, landing on the raft with a large _splash_ that launched it over the river's surface. The impact put a good few yards between them and the furiously barking dogs, the distance only increasing as the river continued to sweep them downstream.

The cousins twisted around, looking back up the river to stare at the shrinking black forms of the dogs. They could see the speck of Farmer Maggot making his way to the river bank, but both Frodo and Merry knew that they were more than safe. They turned back around, and Frodo laughed loudly. "Well done, Merry!" He tossed the apple he had been holding to Merry, who caught it easily.

Turning the apple over his in hand, Merry looked down at the raft that had saved them. "How'd you know this was here?"

Frodo grinned. "I made it, silly Brandybuck. You think I'd lead you to Maggot's farm without an escape plan in case we were to be discovered? Besides," he added. "Saradoc would probably throw me out of Brandy Hall if I let you get eaten by a couple of old dogs."

Merry grinned and took a bit of the apple. He studied the raft, and was both surprised and impressed to see that it had a small rudder with a pole attached to it. "You even put a rudder on it! Where'd you get it?"

"From Uncle Bilbo, last time he visited," explained Frodo. "I wrote a letter to him asking about rudders for my raft, and the next time he came to Brandy Hall, he had one with him. He helped me attach it." Looking pleased with himself, Frodo pulled out a mushroom from his pocket (where Merry was sure Frodo had stuffed many more for later) and popped it into his mouth.

"You know, that was rather fun," Merry said after a few moments. "Hunting for mushrooms."

Frodo looked at his cousin. A sly smile crept onto his lips. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah, you should take me again sometime!"

"What about the dogs? If I remember correctly, you were screaming about your imminent death not ten minutes ago."

Merry threw Frodo a dirty look, but grinned in spite of himself. He shrugged, taking another large bite from his apple. "Well, as long as we have an escape plan, we'll be okay! Or we could raid other farms besides Maggot's, too."

"Sure," Frodo agreed, popping another mushroom into his mouth. "But Maggot's is the most fun to go to – he gets riled up over it so easily."

Merry rolled his eyes. Typical Frodo. "Well, next time _I_ choose which farm we're going to."

"Sure, Merry." Frodo leaned over, ruffling his cousin's curls affectionately. "I'll make a proper thief out of you yet, Meriadoc!"

Merry smiled brightly. He shifted his position on the raft so he could dip his feet in the cool water. The two were silent for a few minutes, munching happily on their prizes as they watched the riverbank pass by.

"So," said Frodo after a few moments. "You wanted to go fishing, right?"

Merry spun around to face Frodo, excitement clear on his face. "Yes!"

"Well then, let's get the poles and bait and see if we can catch something before Aunt Esmeralda comes searching for us for dinner."


	2. Chapter 2

When Frodo had decided that they had sailed far enough, they pulled the raft ashore, leaving it among a few bushes growing next to the riverbank. The two walked across a small wheat field where they came upon a large oak tree. Standing alone in the fields surrounding it, the tree looked positively enormous. Its leaves rustled softly in the warm breeze, a greeting to the young hobbits as they approached it. Reaching up, Frodo pulled two simple fishing poles from their hiding place within the lowest of the tree's branches. He handed those to Merry, then continued to shift his hand around. With a satisfied exclamation, he pulled down a small wooden box Merry immediately recognized. It was the box the two hobbits used to hold their fishing hooks and replacement lines in.

"I put these here while taking the raft to Maggot's farm earlier," Frodo explained as they began to walk back to the riverbank.

Properly equipped with their fishing gear, the cousins set their poles beside their raft. They then waded out into the shallow edge of the river in search of worms to use for bait.

Merry looked relentlessly, but was dismayed to only find one worm within the time Frodo had already caught five. Frowning, Merry twirled the worm between his thumb and index finger. A sudden grin burst across his face, his eyes glinting mischievously. He looked over at Frodo, who was still deep in search for more worms. Merry casually waded over towards Frodo, pretending to be thoroughly scrounging through the mud. When he was directly behind Frodo he stopped and straightened slightly. Unfortunately, Merry was too short to reach the collar of Frodo's shirt. He _was_, however, the perfect height to reach the lower part of Frodo's back, where his shirt tucked into his pants. Muffling a small giggle, Merry reached up, and dropped the worm into the part of Frodo's pants that stretched away from the small of his back.

The effect with immediate. With a yelp, Frodo shot upwards. Losing his footing in his scramble backwards, his toppled over with a loud cry and landed with a splash into the shallow edge of the river. Mud and water flew everywhere, covering both Frodo, who was squirming frantically in the water, and Merry, who had burst into a fit of laughter.

After a few moments, Frodo managed to free himself of the "gift" his cousin had given him. Gasping, he turned to his cousin, who was bent over and still laughing.

"You – should have seen – seen your face," Merry wheezed out between laughs.

Frodo narrowed his eyes at his cousin. "Well then!" he said, pushing himself out of the ankle-deep water. "I guess I'll have to repay you for the generous present."

Seeing the look on the taller hobbit's face, Merry gave a cry of alarm and turned, dashing up the river bank.

"Oh, no you don't!" Frodo lunged forward and caught Merry around the ankles, causing both of them to tumble to the slippery ground. Frodo quickly sprung up and, before Merry could move, landed on his smaller cousin's stomach, pinning him to the ground.

"Frodo!" Merry yelled. He wriggled his feet desperately, which were still in the water. "Frodo, get off!"

"No way, you little trickster!" Frodo said with a laugh, unconcerned with his cousin's squirming. Reaching behind him, Frodo grabbed a large handful of sticky mud.

Seeing what Frodo held in his hand, Merry gave a shout of protest. "Don't even think about it! _Frodo_!"

"Sorry, little cousin," Frodo said cheerfully. "But from one prankster to another, you must understand." Then Frodo brought his hand down, smothering Merry's face and hair with the mud.

"You stupid, stubborn Baggins!" Merry spluttered as Frodo rolled off of him with a laugh. Merry snatched up his own pile of mud and flung it at Frodo. As always, Merry's aim was perfect. The mud pile smacked Frodo in the side of the head, stopping him mid-laugh.

"Alright, that's it!" Frodo cried, grabbing another handful of mud.

Merry laughed and grabbed more mud, dodging another wad Frodo had thrown. The two continued to throw mud at each other, shouting and laughing loudly as the battle went on.

After a while, the hobbits collapsed on the riverbank side-by-side, covered head to toe in mud. Both breathed heavily, trying to catch their breaths.

"Truce?" Frodo managed to gasp.

Merry reached up and smooshed one last ball of mud against Frodo's cheek. "Truce," Merry agreed.

Once their exhaustion drained away, they retrieved their fishing supplies and got back onto the raft, pushing it out into the water. Frodo directed the raft through the narrow river while Merry busily attached the hooks to their pole lines.

After a few minutes the river they were riding on suddenly curved sharply to the left, finally opening up into the much larger and faster BrandywineRiver. Frodo expertly maneuvered the raft around a few shallow spots before moving the craft out into the middle of the river, where the water was both fast and deep.

"Now we're moving!" Merry cried happily. "Can I sail the raft for a bit, Frodo?"

"Sure," Frodo said, moving aside so Merry could take the pole attached to the rudder. Merry had learned how to sail small water crafts a long time ago, so Frodo wasn't worried about him being able to handle the raft, young as he was. Merry grinned and scrambled to where Frodo had sat, taking position at the back of the raft.

Frodo cast a glance at where their fishing poles lay, to be sure that Merry hadn't accidently kicked them into the river when they had traded places. He looked at the rushing waters just inches from where he sat, suddenly slightly wary. He didn't mind going out into the river, having done it plenty of times, and having learned how to swim years ago. Usually it didn't bother him. But…as he watched the small waves brush up against the raft's side, occasionally spilling onto the wooden boards lightly, a tiny part of his mind couldn't help but remind him that this was very same river his parents had drowned in years ago.

Frodo frowned, watching as another splash of water wetted the raft's boards. Since Frodo had built this raft himself, and was always extra cautious when it came to the water, he had made completely sure that it was both sturdy and safe. He wasn't worried about his raft falling apart in the river. Yet…there it still was. The same water that had taken his parents. Frodo sighed and tore his eyes away from the river, focusing on the riverbank as it passed by.

After a while, Merry seemed to see a spot near the riverbank that satisfied him for fishing. After steering the raft to shore, Merry finally let go of the rudder and picked up his fishing pole. Frodo opened his small wooden box and picked out two worms, handing one to Merry and using one for his own hook.

The two hobbits sat on the raft quietly, their lines drifting gently over the river's surface as they waited for something to catch onto their bait. The sun had begun to lower itself in the sky, but Frodo wasn't worried; he knew they had plenty of time to get back to Brandy Hall before dark.

"Oi! Frodo!" Merry said suddenly. "I've got something!"

Frodo snapped his head towards Merry's pole, which was bobbing up and down. Merry began to reel it in, excitement plain on his face. "Oh, I hope it's a big one! It feels like it will be!" Merry reeled in the line a few feet, waited, then reeled again. Frodo watched with a slight smile, letting his own pole dangle loosely in his hands.

"Elbereth, it sure is strong," Merry muttered, a small frown on his lips. Suddenly, he gave a cry of surprise as the pole was jerked from his hands. The pole flew into the air and landed with a _splash_ into the river, at least two yards from where the young hobbits sat. The pole began moving downstream, pulled by both the current and the fish caught in its hook.

"My pole!" Merry cried in dismay. "Frodo, we have to get it back!"

Frodo hesitated, not exactly in favor of chasing after a pole that could easily be replaced by Merry's parents. Then again, Frodo thought, Saradoc wasn't the most forgiving hobbit. Especially if he thought that the pole's loss had been a result of Merry and Frodo carelessly fooling around. Merry's father made it no secret of how much he disapproved of Merry running around with the "rash" Baggins boy all the time, worried Frodo might give his son a bad example to follow. Frodo frowned. He didn't need another lecture from Saradoc, that was certain.

Frodo quickly reeled in his line and leaned over the edge of the raft, pushing it away from shore and into the Brandywine's current. Merry's fishing pole could be seen yards ahead, bobbing up and down frantically in the waters.

"Faster, Frodo!" Merry urged.

"I'm going as fast as the raft will go," Frodo snapped. He steered the raft slightly to the left, trying to catch the faster currents of the river.

The chase went on for several minutes, the raft sometimes closing in on the pole quickly before suddenly lurching back, pushed back by a particularly vicious wave. Merry bit his lip worriedly, glancing back every once in a while at Frodo, who silently steered the raft, keeping his concentration on the pole far in front of them.

Suddenly, the raft gave a huge jerk, causing both hobbits to be flung forward. Merry cried out in alarm, his hands scrambling for a hold as he rolled towards the raft's edge. Frodo, who had managed to stop himself from tumbling off the raft, grabbed onto Merry's shirt and pulled the smaller hobbit to the center of the craft. The two straightened and glanced around in confusion. The raft had completely stopped, though the river continued to flow along either side of it. To the left of the raft a large rock loomed out of the water. Frodo eyed it warily, grateful that at least they had not smashed into that.

Frodo leaned over the back of the raft and groaned, seeing what had caused their sudden halt. A mass of underwater weeds had caught onto the rudder, twisting around it tightly.

"Perfect," Frodo muttered. He reached into the water and grasped the weeds. He gave a tug; the weeds didn't move. Frowning, Frodo pulled harder on the weeds. His efforts had no effect on the tight hold the weeds had upon the raft. Determined not to be defeated by some mere plant growth, Frodo stood up slightly, bracing his feet against the edge of the raft. Reaching down, he seized a new, more secure handful of the weeds and began to pull. Grunting with the effort, Frodo continued to pull on the weeds, his legs straightening out more and more as the weeds started to stretch in Frodo's direction.

_Snap!_ The bundle of weeds Frodo had grasped suddenly broke in half. The raft, half freed from the mass of plants, lurched to the right while Frodo was thrown backwards. Stumbling too far, Frodo felt the edge of the raft beneath his feet. Then all he saw was sky as he fell. Merry cried out frantically, one arm flung towards his cousin.

Frodo tried to reach for Merry's outstretched hand. But it was too late; out of the corner of his eyes Frodo saw the large rock he had spotted earlier rise from the waves. An explosion of pain erupted on the back of his head at the same moment he crashed into the river's waters. The BrandywineRiver engulfed him.

/

The sound of rushing waters raged in his ears. Frodo's eyes were half open, but the edges of his vision were dimmed. Bubbles rushed past his sight, followed by bits of weed and dirt. Frodo tilted his head upwards slightly, pain exploding throughout it as he did so. The surface of the river was above him. It seemed so far away, as if he had sunk hundreds of feet in those few moments since he had fallen into the river. Had he? How deep did the Brandywine go, anyway? The light from the water's surface seemed to shrink horribly fast with every second.

_Swim. I have to swim._ Frodo tried to move his arms, but they wouldn't respond. Neither would his legs, after a moment of experimentation. That was how you swim, right? By moving your arms and legs? Frodo wasn't sure anymore. But how was he going to get back to the surface, then? To…actually, Frodo wasn't sure who was waiting above the waves for him. _Had_ he been with anyone? Everything seemed blurred, washing away with each burst of water that pushed against him.

His chest contracted from the lack of air and Frodo took a breath without thinking; water washed rushed into his mouth and throat. Frodo retched, coughing wildly. Air, where was the air? He needed air! Frodo struggled desperately, trying to rise from where he drifted. But his limbs still refused to react. He was trapped in his body, sinking lower and lower and unable to do anything about it.

_Frodo?_

Frodo started, trying to twist around to see who had spoken to him, but only succeeded in causing a fresh wave of burning pain to erupt in his head.

_Frodo?_

There it was again. It was a woman's voice; gentle, but unsure. Frodo frowned, trying to push past the pain and focus on the voice. But he could not recognize it.

_Drogo! Watch out for the rock! Drogo!_

_Mother_. Frodo gasped, trying to respond, trying to call out to the voice. More water rushed into his mouth as a result. He tried to spit it out, but his body's need for air caused him to swallow it. His lungs, how they burned!

_Primula! Hold onto something!_

_Father._ Frodo's body twisted in the water as another push from the current slammed against him. Everything was so dim, and darkening. Something wrapped around his left ankle, jerking him to a stop.

_Frodo Baggins. I'm so sorry. But your parents…_

_They're dead._

Frodo felt a heaviness press in on him from all sides. The darkness was increasing – his vision was nearly black.

_Dead._

Then, oddly enough, the fire in his lungs began to lessen, as did his need for air. Even the pain in his head was leaving.

_The Brandywine River. It took them._

_They're gone._

_And it's taking you, too._

Frodo's eyes closed. He felt a sudden pressure on his arm. Then, he felt nothing at all.


	3. Chapter 3

"Frodo!" Merry screamed as he leaned over the edge of the raft. "_Frodo__!_"

Merry peered anxiously into the river, trying to catch a glimpse of Frodo amongst the whirling waters. The raft jerked against the weeds and the waves ferociously, threatening to throw Merry into the river after his cousin. Seconds passed as Merry knelt there, part of him desperately hoping that Frodo would simply pop out through the Brandywine's surface, laughing at what a great joke he had pulled on Merry. But the seconds continued to tick by, and Frodo did not resurface.

Merry felt panic settling in. He knew that Frodo was too heavy to pull up himself, and they were miles away from the closest farm – from help of any kind. Merry spun around anxiously, searching in vain for something he could use to help pull out Frodo.

"Help!" he screamed desperately towards the shores, in anxious hopes that someone was nearby. "_Please_! Someone, _help__!_"

No one. Not even a rustle in the grass stretching beyond the far away riverbank. Merry turned back to the water, his breath coming in short gasps as he realized that no one was coming. He was completely alone. But he knew what he had to do. Taking a deep breath, Merry dove off of the raft into the Brandywine River.

/

Water rushed past Merry as he cut through the water. As he slowed down he peered about him anxiously, searching for any sign of his cousin. He swam forward, hoping that the current hadn't pushed Frodo too far downstream ahead of him. Then he saw him. Frodo was drifting in the river's current, but not moving forward. His left foot was entangled in weeds, holding him to the river's floor.

Merry frantically swam to his cousin, grasping Frodo's arm to keep himself beside the older hobbit amongst the current. Frodo was unconscious, and blood oozed from the back of his head. Merry dove to the weeds wrapped around Frodo's ankle and, grabbing a small handful of them, tugged hard. They did not snap. Merry pulled again; the water plants did not give. Merry's chest began to heave, his lungs starting to ache from the lack of air.

He shifted his grip so he was grasping a smaller bundle of the weeds and managed to snap those after two tugs. But as he grabbed for another bunch of the slippery plants, he could feel his movements slowing. The need for air was getting to him – he did not know how much longer he could last. Weakly pulling on the plants, Merry let out a sob, bubbles streaming from his mouth. He felt himself going weak, his hold on the plants loosening.

Suddenly, strong hands grasped Merry beneath his armpits. He felt the hands give an enormous heave and he was thrust to the river's surface above. Merry broke through the water gasping, air rushing back into his lungs. He paddled frantically among the waves, shock coursing through him. Who had grabbed him? He was about to dive back down when an explosion of water erupted next to him. Two heads burst from the waves. One was a male hobbit Merry did not recognize. The other was Frodo, his half-submerged head lolling to the side limply. The stranger pulled Frodo through the river, Merry following close behind. The stranger dragged Frodo onto the riverbank, pulling him a few feet up the bank before finally stopping and turning Frodo over onto his back. Merry crawled to Frodo's other side, leaning over him anxiously.

"Move back," the stranger commanded, pushing Merry away. Merry looked up at their savior and stared in both shock and amazement. This was no hobbit – it was a human man! _He's enormous_, Merry thought, gazing up at the man as he leaned over Frodo.

The man paid no attention to Merry. Turning Frodo onto his side, the man held up the hobbit and pounded firmly on Frodo's back three times. Water started to leak from Frodo's mouth and nostrils, but he show signs of waking.

The stranger laid Frodo onto his back and leaned over the limp body, lowering his ear to Frodo's chest. He waited a moment, then shook his head grimly. The man reached beneath Frodo's chin and tiled the small head up before pinching the hobbit's nose shut. Then he leaned down and pressed his mouth to Frodo's. Merry cried out in alarm and protest, but was too surprised to move forward and try to push the giant man away from his cousin. The man blew air into Frodo's mouth three times before tilting Frodo onto his side again and pounding on the hobbit's back. On the forth pound, Frodo suddenly jerked in the man's arms and heaved a gurgled cough; water spilled from his mouth as he hacked up the Brandywine's contents.

"Frodo!" Merry exclaimed, leaning forward.

Frodo continued to cough, more water spilling from his mouth with each heave. The strange man held Frodo steadily as he retched. When the river water seemed to have finally been emptied from Frodo's body, he fell back into the stranger's arms, his body shaking uncontrollably.

"Easy there," the man said. His voice was deep – deeper than any hobbit's Merry had heard before – but surprisingly gentle. The man gently laid Frodo on the ground, keeping his hand behind the small head to support it.

Frodo's eyes flickered weakly for a moment, but he did not open them.

"Frodo?" Merry asked hesitantly. He reached out a hand and lightly touched Frodo's shoulder. Merry glanced at the man, expecting a rebuke, but the man said nothing.

Frodo gave a low moan. His eyebrows twitched together in pain and he tried to bring his hand up to his head, which was still bleeding. Too weak to do so, all he could do was feebly raise his arm a few inches off the ground.

"Frodo? Can you hear me?"

"Merry?" Frodo croaked, his voice raw from choking up the river water. His eyes slowly opened, and there was Merry, anxiously leaning over him.

"Oh, _Frodo_, thank Elbereth!" Bursting into tears, Merry threw himself onto his cousin's chest, throwing his arms around him tightly. Frodo grunted at the impact, the little air he had in his lungs blown out of him. But after a moment, he raised a shaky arm up and wrapped it around the small body on top of him. A weak smile passed his lips. "Hullo, short stuff," he whispered.

The man watched them for a moment, then leaned forward gently, touching Merry's shoulder. Merry jerked back in surprise, having nearly forgotten the man who had saved them both.

"Let him breathe, lad," the man said. Merry nodded, slightly dazed, and obediently sat back on his heels.

Frodo stared up at the man in surprise, having just noticed his presence. "Who are you?" he asked, his bright blue eyes wide.

The man smiled. "I am a stranger to these lands, as I'm sure is most obvious to you two. A traveler merely passing through to meet an old friend. It seems a most fortunate thing that I was passing this particular way." He leveled his steady gaze with Frodo's. "You've got quite the gash on your head, young one."

"It's not too bad," Frodo said hesitantly. Feeling stronger, he raised a hand up and touched the back of his head. He flinched and wrenched his hand away. His fingers were covered with sticky blood. "I feel like I'm seeing two of everything," he muttered.

"You hit your head extremely hard," the man said. He twisted around slightly, reaching behind him to pull forward a leather bag that had been sitting among the tall weeds behind them. Rummaging through it, he pulled out a long, white strip of cloth.

"What's your name, lad?" he asked, looking at Merry.

"Meriadoc, sir," Merry replied, a bit shyly. He shifted his weight slightly, unsure of how to act in front of a human man. He had never met one before. "But – but most people just call me Merry."

"Merry, could you help me by holding up your friend's head? Your name is Frodo, I take it," he said, looking at Frodo.

Frodo nodded, and winced from the movement. "Yes, sir. But," he added quickly. "I'm perfectly capable of holding up my own head." He tried to sound confident, but failed to do so as his voice trembled from the effort of speaking so much. To prove his statement, he attempted to push himself off of the ground into a sitting position. But he had barely risen himself three inches before collapsing onto his side, groaning pitifully. He choked, and a second later was vomiting up all he had eaten that day.

Merry jumped back with a loud "oi!" The man jerked forward and held Frodo up, supporting his head and chest as he retched.

Once Frodo's stomach had emptied itself, the hobbit limply fell backwards into the man's waiting arms, having rid himself of any strength he had left. "Sorry," Frodo whispered, too dazed to be very embarrassed.

"Nothing to apologize for," the stranger assured him. "Your body is simply reacting to the trauma." He looked up to the smaller hobbit crouched a few feet away. "Merry, if you would," he said, nodding to Frodo's head.

Merry moved back to Frodo's side, careful to pick his way around the clump of mushrooms Frodo had eaten earlier that day. Frodo grinned weakly at the look on the younger hobbit's face. Merry took Frodo's head gingerly, trying his best to still his shaking hands as he supported his cousin.

The man picked a smaller, square piece of cloth from his bag. Uncorking a flask that hung from his belt, he wet the cloth.

"Don't worry, it's just water," he assured a worried Merry. "I have nothing else with me to clean the wound with, unfortunately." He dabbed at the back of Frodo's head, carefully wiping away the blood and mud from the damp curls. Frodo groaned, waves of pain burning through his head each time the cloth was run across or around it. Merry watched Frodo's face, and it suddenly looked to him that Frodo was going to be sick a second time. But just at that moment, the man ceased his cleaning and took away the cloth, drawing a sigh of relief from both Merry and Frodo.

Switching the now blood-soaked cloth out for the white strip, the man wrapped it around Frodo's head, bandaging the gash securely.

"That's all I can do for now," the man said with a frustrated sigh. "Where do you two live? I'll help you home."

"Brandy Hall. About a mile or so that way," Merry answered, pointing.

The man nodded, then rose himself to a crouching position, readying himself to pick up Frodo and carry him.

"No, I can walk," Frodo murmured, feebly pushing the man away.

"He's really stubborn, sir," Merry said reproachfully, eyeing Frodo. "Won't hardly let anyone do anything for him, whether he needs the help or not."

"Well, he most certainly needs the help now, so he's going to have to hold his pride for a little while," the man replied sternly.

"Not…pri – prideful…" Frodo slurred as he struggled to sit up. But the effort was too much for him and the next moment he collapsed, crumpling into the man's arms with a groan.

The man looked down at the hobbit, pity flashing across gray-blue eyes. "Frodo, I can carry you back to Brandy Hall, but you must stay awake."

"Why?" Merry asked. He cast a worried glance at Frodo.

"He hit his head very hard, Merry. It's safest for him to stay awake for at least a couple of hours, to make sure that he isn't injured more seriously that we thought. Once the danger period has passed, he can sleep."

Merry didn't seem quite convinced of this reasoning, but he did not argue.

The man slid his hands beneath Frodo's knees and back, effortlessly lifting the young hobbit into the air. Frodo's head rolled to the side, resting against the man's broad chest. His eyes fluttered weakly, then closed.

"Frodo." The man gave the thin body a shake. "Frodo!"

"Mmm?" Frodo mumbled.

"Don't. Fall. Asleep," the man commanded sternly.

Frodo nodded dimly. The man glanced back at Merry. "Lead the way, Master Merry!"

Merry turned around for a moment, searching for the raft in the river. There it was, still entangled in the weeds, whipping about furiously in the river's current. He sighed, knowing now was not the time to get it out. Snatching up the man's bag, he scrambled to the top of the riverbank, leading the way to Brandy Hall.

"Shouldn't we talk or something?" Merry asked. They had only been walking about five minutes or so, but Merry could see that Frodo was struggling to stay awake. "Maybe it'll help Frodo stay awake."

"Excellent idea, Merry," the man said. "What would you like to talk about?"

"You," Merry said with sudden excitement. "What's your name? What are you, besides a human, I mean? What are you doing here? How'd you get into the Shire?"

The man laughed – a deep, warm sound. "You are a curious one! Forgive me; I should have introduced myself earlier. I have many names, but you two may call me Strider. I'm a ranger from the northern lands. Do you know what a ranger is?"

Merry shook his head. But at the mention of the word "ranger," Frodo's head tilted up slightly, his eyes lit with interest.

Strider noticed, and looked down at him. "Frodo?"

"My – my Uncle Bilbo told me about them…" Frodo said. His voice was barely above a whisper, making it difficult for Merry – who stood at a much shorter height than the man who was carrying Frodo – to hear properly.

"Some of them descend from the line of the human king Isildur…they roam the north, living in the wilderness…but they sometimes visit villages and small towns." Frodo paused, trying to ease the headache that had begun as a result of speaking. "They've been known to help out those less fortunate in those villages…and run evil out of places of good."

"Impressive." The man eyed Frodo carefully. "How do you know so much about us?"

"My uncle told me about them…he's friends with the wizard Gandalf the Grey."

Strider looked sharply at Frodo upon hearing the wizard's name. But he stayed silent, letting Frodo to continue.

"I've never met Gandalf," admitted Frodo. "But Bilbo says that he's friends with some rangers."

"That he is," the man agreed.

For was quiet for a moment, staring at the ground below him. "I…I think I can walk now, if you please," Frodo said. "It would be much easier to stay awake if I wasn't being carried. Not that I don't appreciate the gesture," he quickly added.

The man chuckled. "Of course." He stopped and gently lowered Frodo to the ground. He held Frodo suspended an inch above the ground a moment, looking at the young hobbit carefully. "You sure you're strong enough to walk?"

"Strong enough," Frodo answered, staring at his feet, as if willing strength to come to them.

The man shrugged and set Frodo's feet on the ground. He kept a firm arm wrapped around Frodo's waist, giving the hobbit a moment to find his balance. Frodo clutched Strider's arm and swayed uneasily. He closed his eyes, letting a dizzy spell pass. Merry's hold tightened on Strider's bag as he watched his cousin, worry clear on his face. Finally, Frodo released his grip on Strider's arm. Strider let go of the hobbit, but kept his arm suspended the air behind him, in case he should fall. Frodo waited a moment, his eyes glued to his feet. Slowly he took a step forward. He swayed, and Strider raised his arms, ready to catch him. But after a moment Frodo shook his head and took another step. He wavered once again and Strider lunged forward, gripping Frodo's arm.

"No, I can walk!" Frodo insisted.

"I know," Strider said. "But would it be alright if you kept one hand on my arm? For support? It would make the rest of the walk much easier."

Frodo was silent for a moment, considering the offer. He glanced at Merry, who nodded furiously. Frodo sighed. "Alright." He laid a hand on Strider's offered arm. Strider smiled at Merry and the three set off again, this time at a much slower pace then when Strider had been carrying Frodo.

Strider noticed that Frodo's grip was steadily tightening as the minutes went on. But Frodo did not complain, nor show signs of slowing. Strider did not offer to carry him, sensing how important it was to the hobbit to do this on his own. Also, he felt it would be the best way to keep him awake.

"Thank you," Frodo whispered.

Strider smiled down at the hobbit. "You're most welcome, Master Frodo."

/

/

/

**So with the whole CPR thing – I researched the history of CPR and it looks like it wasn't officially tried out as a life-saving thing till the 1700's. So I kinda made this CPR a bit more…less professional? Haha I guess that's the best way of explaining it.**


	4. Chapter 4

The sun had just started to touch the horizon when the three came to the gate that served as the entrance to the courtyard of Brandy Hall. A few minutes before, Frodo's exhaustion had finally caught up with him, and – much to his annoyance – he had been forced to relent to Strider's insistence that he be carried the rest of the way. It hadn't been much farther to go after that before they reached the hobbits' home.

As they walked up the cobbled pathway to Brandy Hall, Strider was struck by how massive it was, even to his human eyes. The Hall had been built into a large hill, its outside completely wrapping around the mountain of grass and earth. Strider counted at least half a dozen chimneys, and that was just from a quick glance at the front side of the Hall. The entrance door was dead center in the front of the hall; it was circular and hung from golden hinges, and was painted a rustic red.

It was just then that the said door burst open, and a plump woman with curly brown hair came running out.

"Merry!" Rushing forward, she gathered Merry into her arms, hugging him fiercely.

"Hi, mama," Merry said sheepishly.

"Where have you two been?" she demanded. "I've been so worr – oh my." Merry's mother stared at the tall man standing before her, and Frodo, who lay curled up in his arms. "What happened?"

"He hit his head and fell into the Brandywine River," Strider said. "But he should be alright, after a few days of rest. However, I'd think it'd be best to re-clean his cut with proper medicines. I fear he may also need stitches. Is he your son?"

"Our nephew."

Merry's mother and Strider turned towards the door. There stood a middle-aged hobbit, eyeing the scene before him with distaste. He stepped outside of the doorway, his gaze focusing on Frodo. "So he fell in the Brandywine, huh?"

"Yes." Strider frowned slightly at the newcomer, noticing how Frodo – upon hearing the male hobbit's voice – had shifted so that his face was buried in Strider's cloak.

"I'm not going to say I'm surprised," the hobbit said coldly. He glared up at Strider, distrust clear in his eyes. "And who are you? It's not often we have humans in the Shire."

"I'm merely passing through," replied Strider. "I had been traveling near the Brandywine River when I had heard young Merry's call for help and discovered the two."

"We are most grateful for what you did for our boys." Merry's mother said, her voice sincere. She looked at Frodo, worry on her face. "Since you're already carrying him, would you mind bringing him inside? I don't want to disturb him more than necessary."

"Esmeralda that's not necessary –" the male hobbit began.

"Oh, hush, Saradoc," Esmeralda interrupted. "My husband can be a little over cautious sometimes, you must forgive him. Please, come in. But do watch your head!"

Careful of the small body in his arms, Strider stooped low as he passed beneath the doorframe, entering into Brandy Hall.

The entryway to the Hall was huge – the ceiling was tall enough for Strider to stand straight up in. The room was circular with six hallway entrances, the hallways branching out in all directions. Doorways could be seen down them, leading to various rooms or other hallways. The faint smell of some type of vegetable soup drifted from the far right hall, accompanied by the scent of freshly baked bread.

It was quite loud. Various voices could be heard from each hall entrance. The joyful screams of children playing some exciting game, the chattering of gossiping tweenagers, the idle discussions of adults, and even the distant tinkering of someone playing a harpsichord.

Esmeralda led the group down the second hall from the left. The noise grew louder as they walked, the calls of children enforcing the game rules becoming much more distinct.

"Put me down," Frodo said suddenly.

"What?" Strider asked, startled by the unexpected outburst.

"Put me down," Frodo repeated, more urgently this time. "I can walk." The sounds of the children had risen him from his dazed state better than any conversation he had been struggling to have with Strider and Merry had. His pride and fear of losing any sense of dignity he had among his cousins surged in his chest; he did not want his cousins to see him like this.

Strider did as instructed. Frodo wobbled slightly as he put his own weight on his legs, but remained upright. Esmeralda watched him with concern.

"Hurry up now, I've got things to attend to," grumbled Saradoc. He resumed walking, not bothering to look back at his nephew. Strider frowned but focused on Frodo, who was following his uncle slowly.

"No, I _told _you, I tagged Lula! I'm not it!" A young hobbit, looking to Strider to be no older than perhaps six years of age, burst out from the doorway directly in front of them. Seeing the approaching group, he slid to a halt, his smiling broadening upon seeing Merry walking between his parents.

"Guys! Merry's back! Oh, hey, Frodo," he added listlessly, casting a glance in Frodo's direction. He snapped his gaze back to Merry excitedly. "Merry, where have you been? You've been gone _all day_! We – _whoa_!" The tiny hobbit stared up at Strider, his eyes widening with wonder. "Where'd you find a giant, Merry?" he asked in awe.

Merry laughed. "We didn't _find_ him, silly! He found _us_, out by the Brandywine. And he's not a giant – he's a human!"

The younger hobbit's eyes only seemed to grow larger. "Is he staying?"

"Only long enough to see these two lads safely home," Strider answered.

"Why wouldn't they be safe?" the hobbit asked, looking awfully confused at the notion that Buckland would have anything dangerous within its borders.

"Hey! Melilot! Where'd you go?" a chorus of voices called from the room the young hobbit had just sprung from.

Melilot's head snapped to the open door. "Gotta go! Hurry up and come play with us, Merry!" The next second, Melilot had disappeared back into the room.

"Go play with your cousins, Merry." Esmeralda nudged her son in the open door's direction. "We'll talk about what happened today later, after Frodo's been put to bed."

"No, I want to stay with Frodo," Merry said firmly. Pushing past his parents, the little hobbit grabbed his cousin's hand tightly, his mouth set in a thin line of determination. Saradoc looked displeased at this reaction, but Esmerelda simply shrugged and urged the group to continue on.

As they made their way down the hallway, Frodo looked down at the little hobbit who walked proudly beside him. Upon catching Merry's gaze, Frodo smiled gratefully at him; Merry squeezed Frodo's hand in response.

The ruckus created by the playing children did not cease as they walked. Children would burst from doorways in front of them, running down the hall screaming and diving between the adult's legs. Some would stop and gap at Strider as he passed, but most were too caught up in their games to notice.

The hall curved widely to the right, where it eventually cut into a sharp left turn, leading to the back of Brandy Hall. But the children didn't bother to go farther than the left turn, since the children's bedrooms and playrooms ended there. Saradoc stopped at the very last door before the left turn and pushed it open.

Inside was a small bedroom. A neatly made bed was pushed up against the far wall beneath a small window. The room had a fireplace, the leftover ashes from a forgotten fire unattended to. Instead of framed pictures, maps had been pinned to the walls. There was no bookshelf, but stacks of books were strewn throughout the room: on top of a dresser, the nightstand, the hearth, even about the floor. Strider even caught sight of one peeking out from beneath one of the pillows on the bed.

By this time, Frodo's headache had come back full force. Feeling incredibly dizzy, he let Merry lead him to his bed, where he all but collapsed onto it.

"So what were you doing that caused you to slice open your head, anyway?" Saradoc demanded. "Running away from Maggot again? I'm sick of hearing about you stealing everything from Brandy Hall to Hobbiton. As far as I'm concerned, you deserve everything Maggot delves out to you, and more."

"Saradoc, please!" Esmeralda cut in harshly. "He's just a child, and he's been seriously hurt. Any lectures can wait until the morning."

Saradoc scowled. "Fine. The morning then." He turned to Strider. "And you. You've done your good deed. Now, if you will, I'll show you the way out."

"I'd like to stay with Frodo for a few more minutes, if you don't mind," Strider said coldly, his gaze hardening as he matched it with Saradoc's. "I've been trained as a healer, and would like to do a final check on him before leaving."

"I appreciate what you've done for the boy," Saradoc said, not sounding completely sincere. "But I've never had a human in Brandy Hall during my entire time as Master of Buckland, and I don't like having one here now."

"I think it would be in Frodo's best interest," Strider replied firmly.

"Saradoc, please," Esmerelda said. "He's helped Frodo this much already – let him finish attending to him."

Saradoc's scowl deepened as he glanced between his wife and the strange the man. Realizing that neither of them had any intention of relenting, his shoulders sagged slightly with an angry sigh. "Fine," he growled. "Do what you want with him. But I'll be back in exactly ten minutes to escort you out."

"Thank you," Strider said. He looked at Esmeralda. "Do you have any alcohol? I'd like to properly clean Frodo's wound. And a needle and thread – I believe I'm going to have to stitch it up, it's fairly deep."

Esmeralda nodded. "Yes, of course. I'll be right back."

Saradoc turned to Merry. "Come on, son."

"But I want to stay with Frodo." Merry's grip on Frodo's hand tightened.

"No. I don't want you here with the human. Come."

"But –"

"Meriadoc. _Now_."

"Go on," Frodo said, speaking for the first time since they'd entered the room. He gave Merry a small nudge. Merry reluctantly slid down from the bed and walked to the doorway. Saradoc placed a hand on Merry's shoulder, and roughly steered him towards the hallway. Merry tried to look back over his shoulder to catch one more glimpse of Frodo, but the door was already closing. The door snapped shut, and the man and hobbit were left alone.

Strider and Frodo stared at the door for a long moment, silent. Strider finally turned, raising an eyebrow at Frodo. "So, that's your uncle?"

It was not hard to catch the tone of disapproval in the ranger's voice. "One of them." Frodo muttered. He fiddled with one of the braces on his breeches, quiet for a moment. "I sort of bring it upon myself."

Strider stared at Frodo. "How do you come about to justifying that?"

Frodo shrugged. "I'm not exactly the easiest kid to have around. I'm a troublemaker. I play pranks all the time, swipe food from farm fields, go exploring all over Buckland and don't bother coming back to Brandy Hall until hours after dinner. I don't listen –"

"But still, your uncle should at least show _some _concern when his nephew's been injured!"

"I've been injured before, usually from trying to cause trouble in some way."

"But this is a _serious_ injury. Frodo, you almost _drowned_."

Frodo shrugged again. "Saradoc doesn't know that, and he doesn't care to. He –" Frodo sucked in his breath with a hiss; his headache had given a sudden burst of pain. He rubbed his forehead with a sigh, trying to relieve himself of the throbbing.

Strider sighed and pulled up a stool to Frodo's bedside. "How are you feeling? Besides the headache, I mean."

"Still dizzy, though I suppose that's simply courtesy of the headache," Frodo muttered. "I just need some sleep, I'll be fine."

"I'll be the judge of that. Look me in the eyes."

"Why?"

"Do as I say," Strider said, his voice stern.

Frodo sighed and locked his eyes Strider's. Strider studied the young hobbit's pupils – to his relief, they were the same size. "Now," he said, holding up his index finger. "Follow my finger with your eyes – not your head." Frodo did as told, his eyes easily following Strider's finger as it moved as foot to the left and a foot in the opposite direction.

"Good. Now stand up."

Frodo did so.

"Walk from one end of the room to the other three times in a row." Frodo smiled slightly at the odd directions, but followed them without argument. He was slow and cautious as he moved, but Strider didn't seem concerned. "Alright, final test. Hold out your hand."

Frodo raised an eyebrow, but did as asked. Strider reached out and grasped the small hand. Then he gave the palm a hard pinch.

"Ow!" Frodo wrenched his hand out of Strider's. "What was that for?" he asked crossly.

Strider chuckled. "Your reflexes don't seem to be having trouble. Well done, Frodo. You've recovered very well in the short amount of time since your accident."

"Yeah, well, I wish you had somehow lessoned the pain instead of adding to it," Frodo grumbled.

Strider smirked at the hobbit, who had returned to his seat on the bed.

A knock sounded at the door. It was opened by Esmeralda, who came in carrying a thin, rectangular box in one hand and steaming mug in the other.

"I spoke with Saradoc," she said, her voice firm. "He is not to disturb us until we have finished tending to Frodo." She said nothing more on the matter and crossed the room. Sitting on the bed next to Frodo, she set the mug on Frodo's nightstand and the box in her lap. Inside the box were assorted medical supplies, including a bottle of clear liquid Frodo assumed was the alcohol, and a second, stouter bottle containing a sort of thicker substance that looked like a cream of some kind.

"I brought some healing ointment as well," she said, gesturing to the stout bottle. She pulled out a needle and thread from her dress pocket and set it beside the alcohol bottle. Frodo eyed the needle warily.

Esmeralda touched a hand to Frodo's shoulder. "How are you feeling, sweetheart?"

Frodo shrugged. "Fine, I guess."

"About what Saradoc was saying earlier –"

"I said I'm fine," Frodo snapped. He bit his lip, not intending to sound so harsh. Esmeralda fell silent, and removed her hand from Frodo's shoulder.

"We need to clean your cut, Frodo," Strider said. He felt that Frodo and his aunt should talk alone, and the faster he cleaned Frodo's wound the faster he could leave them to their privacy.

"Here, why don't you change into a nightshirt first, Frodo," Esmeralda suggested, a little more shyly than before, obviously thrown off by Frodo's retort.

"Yes, Aunt Esmeralda," Frodo said. Guilt pooled in his stomach as he observed her deflated attitude. He got up from the bed and walked to where his closet was. Picking out a simple nightshirt, he moved behind the closet door and changed quickly, leaving his dirty and torn clothes on a nearby chair.

At Esmeralda's prodding, Frodo lay on the bed on his stomach. Esmerelda and Strider stood over the side of the bed, leaning over Frodo. Esmeralda carefully unwrapped the dirty, blood bandage from his head, letting out a small groan of dismay when the gash on her nephew's head was revealed.

The wound was about two inches in length, and alarmingly deep. Luckily, it did not look infected. Upon being exposed to the open air, blood began to seep from the wound once again. Frodo flinched as air brushed against the wound.

"We should cut off his hair surrounding the wound," Strider said reluctantly, glancing at Frodo's thick hair. "It would make it easier to put the stitches in, and would keep any hair out while I sewed, keeping it sanitary."

"Fine," Frodo said tightly.

Strider and Esmeralda exchanged glances. Esmeralda pulled out a pair of scissors from the box she had brought and began to snip away at Frodo's hair. She bit her lip sadly as she watched the dark curls tumble onto the bed sheets, but they all knew that nothing could be done about it. She finished quickly; the spot around the wound now had only a fine layer of short hairs barely a centimeter in length. The spot contrasted sharply with the rest of Frodo's head, making the mop of curls look awkward and off.

Strider dampened a cloth Esmeralda had brought with the alcohol from the medical kit. "This is going to sting," Strider warned Frodo as he raised the cloth to the young hobbit's head.

"I know," Frodo said. His hands gripped the blanket covering his bed tightly, readying himself. "Just do it."

Strider dabbed the cloth to the gash, immediately causing Frodo to flinch and let out a low hiss. As Strider cleaned the wound, Frodo's shoulders tensed and his knuckles turned ghostly white from their grip on the blanket. Esmeralda grasped one of Frodo's hands, holding her breath. When he was satisfied that the wound was clean, Strider set the cloth down, letting Frodo steady himself before the stitching began. Frodo did not relax. He kept the same position, his eyes boring the bed's headboard.

Strider grimly took the threaded needle Esmeralda offered to him. Squeezing Frodo's shoulder in reassurance, he began to sew up the wound.

Frodo's breath came in short gasps, his jaw clenched and his teeth ground tensely. Tears pricked at Esmeralda's eyes and she squeezed Frodo's hand harder. Frodo's eyes had lost their focus; he looked as though he might either be sick or faint.

From the angle he sat at, Strider could see Frodo's eyes flutter weakly. Worried the young hobbit might pass out before he was finished, Strider hastily tied off the final stitch. He applied the healing ointment, trying to be both fast but gentle. Snatching up the white cloth strip Esmeralda had brought, he wrapped it snugly around Frodo's head.

Frodo moaned weakly as the bandage was tied in place. Esmeralda and Strider gently turned the young hobbit over, laying him against the pillows Esmeralda had propped up.

"Frodo?" Strider asked worriedly.

"Hurts…" Frodo murmured, dazed.

"Here, sweetie," Esmeralda coaxed, holding out the mug she had placed on his nightstand earlier. "This will help you sleep, and ease the pain." She held the mug against his lips. Frodo drank the tea numbly, his eyes drooping from the effort of keeping consciousness. Already exhausted, the tea was quick with its work on him. The mug had barely been taken away from his mouth before Frodo's head fell back against the pillows, his eyes closing sleepily. He sighed deeply, his breath falling into an uneasy – but consistent – breathing pattern.

Esmeralda brushed the sweat-dampened curls away from Frodo's forehead and pressed a light kiss against the pale skin.

Strider stood up, feeling more like an intruder than ever before. "I should go." Esmeralda looked up at him, surprised at the sudden hurry the ranger exerted. "Be sure to wake him every four or five hours, to check on him. Check his balance, reflexes, and ability to move and speak." Strider quickly explained to her the various tests he had done on Frodo, so she could repeat them later. "If he cannot do any of these, call for a physician immediately. You have a physician in Buckland, yes?"

"Of course," Esmeralda said. She held her head a bit higher, slightly offended at the question.

"My apologizes, I just wanted to make sure."

"Will you not stay? I am not very talented when it comes to medical needs."

Strider looked over at Frodo regretfully. "I cannot, I am afraid. Besides, I don't believe your husband would take too kindly to my prolonging my stay."

"I do apologize for his behavior," Esmeralda cast a rueful glance towards the door. "He just is so slow to trust others, especially those not of our kind."

"I understand," Strider said. "However, I must leave. I have business in Hobbiton."

"Do you?" Esmeralda said, the interest apparent in her voice. Curiosity burned within her; what business a man could possibly have in Hobbiton? "Do you know the way?"

"I believe I can find it from here," Strider said.

"Well, let me at least point you in the right direction. It's quite a journey from here, you know. Especially on foot."

"I am aware."

"Well, I shall fetch you some food and water too. It's the least I can do, in repayment for you helping my nephew," she said. She held up her hand to halt any arguments Strider was planning to put forth and led him to the bedroom door.

"I am most grateful. Thank you, ma'am." Strider bowed low before Esmeralda, who flushed a slight pink. He straightened (as best he could beneath the low ceiling), and cast a last glance back at Frodo. "Take care of those boys."

"I will."

Tearing his gaze away from Frodo, Strider stooped through the open doorway. Esmeralda followed, closing the door behind her.

/

Hours later, the door to Frodo's bedroom creaked open. Soft footsteps crossed the room, coming to a halt before the bed Frodo slept in. There was a tiny grunt, and a small form leaped onto the bed.

The impact jolted the bed's occupant awake, causing him to sit up in alarm. Moaning at the pain that suddenly shot through his head, Frodo squinted into the inky darkness, trying to spot his intruder.

"Frodo?" a soft voice asked.

"Merry?" Frodo felt the bed's mattress shift as Merry crawled over the blanket to the space between Frodo and the wall his bed backed up against. Frodo moved over slightly to make room for the tiny body. Merry slipped beneath the sheets and burrowed his head beneath the bigger hobbit's right arm; Frodo slung his arm over his cousin's shoulder, his hand lightly resting on the small chest.

"I'm sorry I made you go after my fishing pole," Merry whispered.

Frodo tightened his arm around Merry. "It wasn't your fault. It was an accident. If anything, it was me and my thick-headedness. If I hadn't gone about freeing the raft in such a stupid way, maybe my head wouldn't be stitched up like one of Aunt Esmeralda's patch jobs right now."

Merry smiled into the darkness. "Stubborn Baggins."

"Silly Brandybuck."

Merry was quiet for a moment. He fiddled with the sheets, noting how loud the rustling sounded in the dead of the night. He sighed. When he spoke, his voice was trembling. "I was so scared, Frodo. I tried to pull you up, but your foot was caught in weeds, and the river was moving so fast, and I couldn't hold my breath any more –"

"Hey, hey, it's alright. Merry, it's alright." Frodo moved his head over a bit so his cheek rested on top of Merry's head. "You were so brave, Merry. I'm so proud of you."

Merry sniffled. The two lay there for a while; the chirping of the crickets just outside Frodo's window quickly filled the silence.

"Does it hurt?"

"Mm?" Frodo blinked, having nearly fallen asleep again. Merry repeated the question. "Oh." Frodo was silent for a moment, contemplating whether his head did hurt or not. Half asleep, he wasn't so sure. "Not so much right now. As long as I don't move around too much. Or think too much," he added jokingly.

"Well then you should feel fine," Merry said with a giggle. "You never think!"

Frodo nudged Merry playfully. "Gee, thanks."

"You're welcome," Merry said, a yawn escaping him.

"Night, Merry," Frodo whispered, adjusting the blanket so it fully covered both of them.

"Night, Frodo," Merry murmured sleepily.

Their presence a comfort to each other, sleep overcame them quickly.


	5. Chapter 5

Esmeralda checked on Frodo twice more during the night and the morning that followed, testing him as Strider had instructed. Merry – who was awake for the final one – watched with amusement, letting out a small giggle when Esmeralda pinched Frodo. Frodo gave Merry a firm push in response, making the smaller hobbit topple back onto the rumpled bed sheets with a squeak.

Satisfied that her nephew passed Strider's tests, Esmeralda declared that in spite of that, Frodo would have to be bed-ridden for at least the following week. Ignoring Frodo's cries of protest, she gathered up his mud-splattered clothes from the day before and left the room, saying she would be back with breakfast in an hour or so.

"Get dressed, Merry. You have chores to do after breakfast." she called as she left. "And hurry up, or your father will hear about it!"

Frodo and Merry sat back on the bed in unison, their arms crossed and their faces twisted into scowls.

"This is stupid," Frodo grumbled. "I don't want to stay in bed for a _week_! That's the most boring, worst punishment she could think of!"

"Why should I have to do chores while you sit here, being waited on hand and foot?" demanded Merry. "It's unjust, it is. I refuse to bend to the will of those without a heart for the meek and tiny!"

Frodo cast an amused side-glance at his cousin. "Meek and tiny? That doesn't sound like how you'd describe yourself."

Merry shrugged. "It helps with the sympathy. How else am I supposed to win them over?"

"With your wit and charm?"

Merry stuck out his lower lip in a pout. "She'll probably give me your chores stacked on top of mine. That's how she does things, giving her son the harshest work over all his spoiled cousins! Drive me to an early grave, she will!"

Frodo felt a smile tug at the side of his mouth. "Yeah, well, when you've finished both your and my chores, don't hesitate to come by and bring whatever mushrooms you find out around Brandy Hall's gardens. I'm already starving for some."

Merry glared at Frodo. "I'll do no such thing!" he jumped down from the bed, his hands on his hips. "I see I'll be getting no sympathy from _you_, then! Fine, I'll just be leaving then! Have fun doing _nothing_, Baggins!"

"Don't exert yourself too much out there!" Frodo called cheerfully as Merry stomped out of his room. "Wouldn't want you to faint or come down with a fever!" Merry responded by slamming Frodo's bedroom door shut as loud and hard as possible.

Frodo lay back against his pillows with a grin. His amusement quickly deflated once he realized that he truly was imprisoned in his room for the following seven long days. There was no hope of getting out of it. Once Aunt Esmeralda made a decision, she stuck with it. Frowning, Frodo gazed around his room, trying to think of how he could amuse himself for a week. He looked up and stared at the large map he had pinned to the ceiling above his bed. It was a map of the night sky and illustrated dozens of constellations.

Frodo's maps were one of his most proud aspects of his bedroom. No one else in Brandy Hall seemed to care for maps, but Frodo thought they were fascinating. Even though he had no way of traversing across Middle Earth just yet, maps were one of the ways he _could_ explore the world from the close quarters at Brandy Hall. Most of them his Uncle Bilbo had given to him, though some he managed to buy using coins he would find or swipe from unsuspecting hobbits in Buckland's main marketplace.

Books were Frodo's other form of adventuring. Oh, how he loved reading stories of great adventures and explorers! He only wished he could have his own adventures someday, and maybe write them down in a book of his own. Frodo studied the piles of books lying about his room. Unfortunately, he was sure he had read all of the books he owned. He sighed, boredom already settling in. It was going to be a long week.

/

As Merry had predicted, he had been given Frodo's chores added onto his own. Some had been dispersed to the other children, but the majority had been given to the young Brandybuck. Merry was most upset by this, and – as revenge upon the culprit – decided he would refuse to visit his bed-ridden cousin until the chores were restored to their "rightful master."

This left Frodo in quite a lonely predicament. None of the other children bothered to ask where their Baggins cousin had gone to, and when told, didn't show any signs of wanting to visit him. None of the cousins particularly _disliked_ Frodo; they simply just didn't find much fun in being with him. He was either too old, too outgoing, or just too plain odd for them.

Though the Brandybuck children were wild and quite monstrous when playing their games with each other, they weren't the same kind of "wild" Frodo was. They stayed within the borders of Buckland and didn't normally stray far from Brandy Hall unless they were going on a trip somewhere. They liked their home. There was no sense in leaving to find other lands where potentially dangerous persons or creatures could be waiting for them. No, it was better to stay where they knew every rock and blade of grass that passed beneath their feet.

How odd to them that a hobbit would want to venture beyond Buckland, let alone the lands of the Shire. No one left the Shire – it was absurd to even think about. Yet that young Baggins insisted that he would do just that someday, making others quite uncomfortable and unsure how to respond to such a ridiculous notion.

Frodo Baggins' games were often quite strange, too. He preferred pretending about dragons and battles and magic, and traversing to the less-traveled parts of Buckland to act out these games. None of the other Brandybuck children really had a desire to go out that far, especially with the Baggins boy. And so, they left him to his own fantasies.

Merry was really the only Brandybuck who made a point to spend time with Frodo. He adored his cousin and loved playing his "strange" games with him. And though he was sometimes intimidated by Frodo's brashness, he knew he would be fine as long as Frodo was with him.

Unsurprisingly, the older hobbits were slightly put off that Saradoc Brandybuck's son would go off traversing with Frodo Baggins. But Merry didn't quite go as often or as far as Frodo, and he spent time with the other children as well. And so they forgave his actions, deciding it was just a phase that would pass soon enough.

/

It had been three days, and no one – besides Esmeralda – had come to see Frodo. It was driving him insane.

Frodo paced his room, frustration eating away at him. How could Merry not come? It stung him to know that _no one_ – especially Merry – had bothered to come and see him. Tears pricked his eyes as the far away sounds of children playing in the gardens outside his window could be heard.

_I hate this place._ He thought, giving a book laying on the floor a swift kick. It flew across the room and smacked into the far wall, a few pages fluttering out of it as it sunk to the floor. _Everybody hates me here. I wish someone would come and take me away._ He came to a stop in front of the fireplace, staring at the old ashes. _I can't sit here any longer. I have to do something, or I'll go mad._

Changing out of his nightshirt into normal day clothes, Frodo took a few steps towards his bedroom door before stopping short with a frown. There were too many children down that hallway – he would most certainly be seen and his aunt alerted before he even reached the main hall. No, that wouldn't do at all. Frodo climbed onto his bed and pushed at his window. It wouldn't budge. Bending down, Frodo saw that his window had been locked shut from the outside; a new latch had been nailed into the window pane. His aunt's doing, no doubt. With a scowl, Frodo began searching his room for some sort of tool to work the lock open.

Sorting through the stacks of papers on his desk, Frodo discovered a divider caliper that Bilbo had given him for his birthday years ago. Rushing back to the window, Frodo eased the caliper between the two window panes that the latch was holding shut. Biting his lip in concentration, Frodo moved the caliper beneath the latch. He pushed upwards, and the latch popped off of the nail, releasing the window pane with a soft click.

Smiling triumphantly, Frodo slipped the caliper into his breeches' pocket and pushed the window open. Seeing no one standing about, Frodo pushed himself through the window and dropped to the dark soil below with ease.

It was much brighter outside. Frodo squinted his eyes and winced, the intensity of the sunlight making his head ache slightly. Shaking his head, he left the garden and headed for the eastern side of Brandy Hall.

Frodo made it to the other side of Brandy Hall easily enough, keeping out of sight from windows and careful to avoid places he knew the Brandybucks often spent their time outside. Finally, he reached the large windows that lined the wall of the Brandy Hall kitchen. He crouched beneath the window and peered over the sill just far enough to see inside.

The luncheon meal had been over an hour ago, so the cooks had already cleaned up and left. Frodo eyed the large pantry in the corner of the kitchen with a grin. _This is too easy_. He thought.

Pulling open the window slightly, Frodo easily crawled through it and rolled onto one of the kitchen counters. He knocked a jar of beans across the counter a few feet, causing them to rattle noisily. Grimacing, he slid to the floor and crawled beneath the large cutting table that stood in the center of the kitchen. A second passed, and no one came into the room. Shrugging, Frodo made his way to the pantry door. He opened it and slipped inside.

The pantry was huge. Ten rows of shelves stood on each wall, full to the brim with food and cooking ingredients. Frodo picked through the shelves casually, once in a while snatching up a piece of bread or pastry that caught his eye.

"– I'm just saying, you're much too hard on the boy."

Frodo started in surprise, not remembering hearing the kitchen door swing open. He dropped to the floor of the pantry, searching for a place to hide.

"And why shouldn't I be? He has no sense of responsibility or respect. He needs someone to discipline him properly and teach him the consequences of being a troublemaker." Frodo frowned, recognizing Saradoc's voice.

"Yes, he gets into trouble often –" Esmeralda replied.

Saradoc scoffed.

"– but he's also very lonely, Saradoc. He has almost no friends here, besides Merry."

Frodo stiffened. They were talking about him.

"That's another thing," Saradoc cut in. "I don't like how much time Merry spends with him."

"Why?" Esmeralda asked sharply.

"Because I don't want Frodo influencing him. I don't want Merry to become…odd."

Frodo bit his lip, the words stinging. He looked down at the pastries he clutched, feeling tears prick his eyes. He knew that everyone at Brandy Hall thought him…off. Even his aunt and uncle, he was sure. But to hear them actually _say_ it, confirm it with their own mouths…

Esmeralda did not answer for a moment. "Saradoc. I know Frodo's a bit…different from the other children here."

"That's an understatement."

"_But_," Esmeralda continued, her voice a bit louder in response to the interruption. "Despite that, and despite his little…thieving problem, he's still a good lad. He wants to please you, I can tell. And he's trying, in his own way. He _wants_ to fit in, but just…can't."

"He's a Baggins; he'll never fit in here."

Frodo's mouth dropped open. His chest heaved as he tried to draw in shaky breaths as quietly as possible so as not to give himself away.

"Saradoc –"

"I have to go," Saradoc interrupted. "Merimac and I have to go to the market today and try to sell that blasted goat he _insists_ will fetch a good price. We'll be back in a couple of hours."

"Can we please finish this conversation when you get back?"

He gave an irritated sigh. "We'll see." There was sound of heavy footsteps, and then the opening and shutting of a door.

Frodo could hear his aunt pace the kitchen for a minute, her hand tapping across the cutting table restlessly. She sighed, then left through the same door her husband had shortly before. All was quiet.

Frodo sat on the pantry floor for a long time, staring at the stolen food in his lap. He gave a wretched sob and pressed his aching forehead to his knees. Wrapping his arms around himself, he rocked from side to side, crying quietly.

/

Some time later, Frodo finally sat up and wiped away his tear-stains. He stood up, not caring about the stolen food as it tumbled to the floor. No longer hungry, he left the pantry and climbed out through the window he had come in through.

Outside, Frodo broke into a full run. He didn't care if anyone saw him – he just wanted to get as far away from Brandy Hall as he could. But he had barely made it ten feet into the first wheat field when he found himself facing a small group of children who had been playing some sort of chasing game among the tall grains.

Among them was Merry. Merry looked at Frodo in surprise, as did the other children.

"Frodo? What are you doing out here?" Merry asked. The other children looked at each other with wary glances, not really caring to hear what they were sure would turn into a boring conversation.

"Merry, we'll be over by the pony fence, okay?" one of the older children tapped Merry's shoulder.

"Fine," Merry said sharply. The children shrugged at each other and left the field. Merry frowned at Frodo. "I thought you were supposed to be _resting_. Shouldn't mother be bringing you pastries or something right now?"

Frodo clenched his jaw. He didn't need to hear this now, not after what had happened in the kitchen. "You know what, Merry? I'm sick and tired of your childish whining and excuses. You're supposed to be my _friend_, and you're acting just like everyone else here. A typical Brandybuck," he spat.

Merry bristled, his face turning red. "Well, you know what I think? I think you're a freak who's spoiled by a weirdo uncle that no one likes either. You're a _Baggins_, Frodo. No one wants to be around you. And neither do I!"

Frodo stared at Merry in shock. Merry's face turned a darker shade of red and his lip began to tremble, as if suddenly dawned on him what he had just said. But he did not take it back.

Frodo took a step away from Merry, his whole body shaking with fury. He opened his mouth but snapped it shut a second later, not knowing how to respond. Then he burst into a run, dashing around Merry and disappearing into the tall wheat crops.

For the second time that day, tears burst from Frodo, streaming down his face as wheat whipped across his cheeks and tangled in his hair. His vision was blurred from the tears, but it didn't matter. As long as he didn't have to face Merry. Merry. His only friend at Brandy Hall. And now he had no one.

He thought he heard someone calling his name in the distance, but his head was pounding too much for him to discern if it was real or not. His headache had come back again, throbbing relentlessly. Pain shot across his head in sharp spasms, spreading out from where his wound was. He was dizzy and exhausted, but couldn't seem to stop running. The wheat field seemed to go on forever. Endless rows of golds and browns, all shaking in mocking laughter at Frodo as he brushed past them.

Finally, the pain was too much for Frodo. He felt himself sinking to the earth. Before he had even touched the ground, he lost consciousness.


	6. Chapter 6

When Frodo woke it was dark outside. A moment passed before he realized he was back in his bed. A fire danced sadly in his fireplace, the crackling of the flames the only sound in the room. The night sky stared down at him through his window, thin clouds half covering the distant moon. He groaned, bringing a hand to his still-throbbing head.

"Frodo?"

Frodo started and snapped his head towards the voice, wincing at the movement. There sat his aunt, worry on her face. And – to his surprise – sitting next to her was Merry. His eyes were red and puffy, as if he had been crying. Upon seeing Frodo awaken he leaned forward anxiously.

"Frodo?" Merry said, his voice shaky and small. Frodo did not look Merry in the eye; he glanced at his aunt and then turned away. Why couldn't they just leave him alone?

"How are you feeling, dear?" Esmeralda asked.

Frodo did not answer. He did not want to talk to his aunt, not after hearing her conversation with Saradoc in the kitchen. He kept his back to them, pressing his lips together in silence.

Esmeralda sighed. "Merry, go wait outside."

"But –"

"_Now_, Merry. You can see Frodo after I'm done talking to him."

Merry gave an annoyed huff but did as was told. Once the door had closed behind him Esmeralda turned back to Frodo. Frodo shifted uncomfortably beneath her gaze, then gave a small gasp of surprise as a spark of pain shot through his right thigh. He pushed aside his nightshirt to see that it had been bandaged.

"The caliper that had been in your pocket pricked you fairly deeply when you collapsed in the field," Esmeralda said. "I'm keeping it my possession until I feel that you are responsible and trustworthy enough to have it back."

Frodo lay in angry silence.

"Frodo, you're making it very difficult on yourself to heal properly. You betrayed my trust, and Saradoc's, and left your room. You could have brought serious further injury to yourself and –"

"Betrayed your _trust_?" Frodo said as he finally turned to face her. Anger flared in his eyes. "Betrayed _Saradoc's_ trust? Saradoc doesn't give a damn over what happens to me, you and I both know that."

Esmeralda frowned. "You should give your uncle more credit. He –"

"No! I shouldn't. And he shouldn't give me any credit either. We clearly know each other enough to understand that we're never going to get along. We're not meant to. I'm a _Baggins_. That alone is enough for him to hate keeping me here."

Esmeralda stared at Frodo in shock. "Frodo –"

"I heard you too in the kitchen earlier today," Frodo seethed. "I was in the pantry, _stealing food_ – as you both hate so much – when I heard you."

Esmeralda's eyes widened in horror upon learning that Frodo had heard her and her husband's conversation. She tried to say something but Frodo continued, not allowing her to speak.

"I know you all think I'm a freak. And I guess I am. And I'm _sorry_ if I've…embarrassed you or inconvenienced you by being here. Ship me off to Bree or some other place if you want. But don't lie to my face, pretending that you love me when I know you don't."

His aunt's mouth had dropped open slightly as her nephew had spoken, and tears filled her eyes as he said his last sentence. She was silent for a moment, unsure how to respond. "Frodo, let me first say this," she said slowly. "We _love_ you, and there is nothing that could change that."

Frodo opened his mouth to retort but she held up her hand, stopping him.

"No, Frodo. Let me speak. Yes, your little pranks and thieving episodes can…_frustrate_ your uncle and I. And sometimes we're not sure how to respond to you when you bring up these notions of leaving the Shire and meeting humans and other strange folk. It's not exactly a normal thing for a hobbit to say. _But_, that doesn't mean we think you're a freak. I could _never_ be embarrassed of you."

She sighed. "Frodo, your uncle…he…he is a hobbit who lives by tradition. That's all he understands – and wants to understand. He would never admit to it, but he is scared of change, and scared of things that he cannot comprehend. You are something that spirals away from that of a normal, traditional hobbit. And that frustrates him, not knowing how to respond to you. He's fears for you and your desire for adventure. He's scared that if you somehow get caught up in an adventure he's not going to be able to stop it or help you when you need it most. And so he keeps his distance from you while at the same time tries to keep you close by. Because he doesn't understand you, but also wants to keep you safe."

Frodo sat there, his arms crossed and his mouth drawn into a frown. This was not how he saw his uncle. He rubbed at his forehead in frustration, trying to comprehend what his aunt told him. Then he sighed and glanced at the outside sky through his window.

"I have no friends here," he whispered. He cast his eyes down in shame, afraid to look at his aunt. "No one wants to spend time with me. Not even Merry anymore."

"Was he not here a few minutes ago, sitting by your bedside?"

"He told me exactly the same thing had Saradoc said." Frodo's voice hushed, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. "That I'm a freak, and that he didn't want to be around me."

"I know. He was the one who told us what happened and where you'd gone."

Frodo looked at Esmeralda in surprise.

She nodded. "I had gone to give you your afternoon tea and medicine, but you weren't there. Seconds later Merry burst into the room, out of breath and rambling about you running off into the wheat field. Saradoc and Merimac had already left for the market, but Seredic and Milo were here and they volunteered to go look for you. Merry insisted on coming along. The three went off into the field and came back about a quarter of an hour later with Seredic carrying you. Merry was holding onto your hand and sobbing."

Frodo stared at Esmeralda in shock. "I-I didn't think…"

"That your little cousin loved you anymore?" Esmeralda shook her head. "Frodo, you and Merry are both very young. And young lads say things when they're angry that they don't _really_ mean. Merry loves you. Here, why don't you let him tell you himself? I'll let you two talk for a bit." She stood and went to the door.

"Aunt Esmeralda?"

Esmeralda paused, her hand on the door handle.

"I'm sorry."

Esmeralda cast a sad smile back at Frodo. "I know, Frodo." She opened the door and Merry stumbled into the room, clearly having been leaning against the door with his ear pressed against it to listen. Esmeralda shook her head, a shadow of amusement on her face. "I'll be in the parlor if you two need me."

Esmeralda left, and Merry stood in front of the door awkwardly, rubbing his left foot against his right ankle and staring at the floor quietly. Moments passed, the only sound in the room that of the fire crackling softly.

Merry sniffled and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. He kept his gaze on the floor as he finally spoke. "Frodo…" the name was barely more than a whisper. "I'm sorry I said those things to you. I didn't mean them. I really didn't." He gave a sob. "I was just angry that you were inside all day while I was doing chores, and then I had to play with the other kids and they're _so_ boring compared to you, and that made me even more frustrated, but I couldn't go see you because then I'd go back on my own promise to myself I wouldn't see you until I didn't have to do both our chores, and I was angry at myself for being stupid about the chores, but I wouldn't let myself _not_ be angry at you about it, and then you got angry at me, and I got even more angry, and…and…oh, Frodo I'm _really_ sorry!" The last word came out as a hiccupped sob, followed by an explosion of tears.

Halfway through Merry's apology, Frodo had started to untangle himself from his sheets and was trying to get down from his bed. Once Merry started crying Frodo hurriedly crossed the room and knelt on the floor, gathering the sobbing hobbit into his arms.

"Hey, Merry, it's okay," Frodo said soothingly. "I'm sorry too. I didn't mean to get angry at you out in the field. It was stupid of me."

"But you had every right too," Merry hiccupped. "I was being so awful to you."

"Well, I suppose we were both being sort of awful to each other." Frodo squeezed his cousin and let the little hobbit cry into his shoulder, soaking the sleeve of his shirt. "But it's alright now. I'm just glad you still want to be around me."

"Of course I do!" Merry said in horror. "Frodo, you're my most favorite cousin I have."

"You don't think I'm a freak?"

Merry shook his head furiously. "No way! And neither is Bilbo. I didn't mean what I said about him either. I'm so sorry."

Frodo's lip trembled. "Thanks, Merry."

"Everyone else here is just too stupid to appreciate your and Bilbo's brilliance," Merry huffed.

Frodo smiled. "Well, I'm glad that at least you like our company."

"Any high-end hobbit would," Merry said matter-of-factly.

Frodo laughed softly and buried his face into Merry's mass of curls. "Thank you," he whispered, a tear trailing down his cheek.

/

For the next six days (Esmeralda had added on a couple days to Frodo's "sentence" as punishment for his run through the wheat field), as soon as Merry was done with his chores he would rush to Frodo's room. After dumping whatever food he'd managed to swipe out onto Frodo's bed, the two would engage themselves in various activities to pass the time. Merry would tell Frodo of any news he had heard drifting through Brandy Hall, and also relate – in elaborate detail – any stories of his doings that he deemed worth telling for that day. Then they'd play games, or Frodo would read a story to Merry, or try to teach him how to read maps. Merry thought the maps were especially interesting. And when Frodo lamented over Esmeralda taking away his caliper, Merry declared that he would steal it back for him.

As promised, the following morning Merry strutted into Frodo's room, brandishing the recovered caliper proudly.

"Well done, you little thief!" Frodo exclaimed joyfully, taking the offered caliper.

"I _did_ learn from the best," Merry said, looking particularly proud of himself.

A few times Frodo had discussed attempting to escape his bedroom with Merry. However, Merry put a firm stop to the idea every time, convinced that his beloved cousin who keel over dead if he stepped outside again before his designated sick period had passed.

Finally the six days had gone by and Frodo was free to leave his room. Esmeralda didn't want Frodo to exert himself too much and tried to convince him to stay within the boundaries of Brandy Hall, at least until his wound had completed healed. Frodo would hear none of it; he was too excited to finally be outside again. Merry decided to make plans with Frodo to recover the raft from the Brandywine – if it hadn't been dashed to pieces by this point. But the plans were cut short by Esmeralda's decided punishment for their trespassing on "poor Farmer Maggot's" fields. They were to pick a basket full of mushrooms and bring it personally to Farmer Maggot with a full apology. Both Frodo and Merry were aghast with horror at the sentence.

"He'll tear us to shreds, feed us to his dogs, and tear whatever's left into more shreds!" Merry declared in terror.

"I agree with Merry, there's no way Maggot'll let us walk out of there in one piece," said Frodo with a nod of his head.

"You two dramatize everything," Esmeralda said in exasperation. She shoved a large basket into Frodo's hesitant hands. "Now go. And I'll be sending a letter to Maggot later this week to follow up. So don't even think about abandoning your trip to Bamfurlong and eating those mushrooms for yourselves."

Esmeralda had been hesitant in making Frodo walk the whole way to Maggot's farm, for fear of him over-exerting himself. She offered to have Saradoc bring him over in one of the wagons, but Frodo immediately declined, saying that he needed no help and was perfectly capable of walking there himself, thank you very much. His aunt reluctantly relented, but insisted on Frodo taking his time getting there and coming straight back afterwards.

And so Frodo and Merry went off into the Buckland fields in search of mushrooms to fill up their apology-basket with. It took longer than expected, as Merry would eat the mushrooms he found more often than contribute them to the basket. However, after receiving a sharp smack to the head from Frodo, he stopped. Though he didn't do so without a lot of grumbling.

It was around the time elevensies would be being served back at Brandy Hall when Frodo and Merry made it to Bamfurlong, a full basket hanging between their hands.

"I'm never going to see another breakfast. Or second breakfast. This is it; we're going to die," Merry whimpered.

Frodo rolled his eyes. "Come on." He pulled a reluctant Merry towards the barn, his mouth set in determination. _Just give him the basket and get out. That's it._

Frodo had barely risen his hand to knock on the door when it suddenly opened. The familiar, scowling face of Farmer Maggot loomed out from the gloomy inside.

"What do you want? Will you trespassing troublemakers never leave me in peace?" he demanded, swinging the door open wide and brandishing a small gardening shovel.

Merry stepped back in alarm, a terrified squeak escaping him.

Frodo stayed where he was, determined not to let the farmer intimidate him. "Good morning, Farmer Maggot. I'm Frodo Baggins, and this is Meriadoc Brandybuck. I'm sure you recognize us, and we're here to say that we're sorry for stealing your mushrooms the other day. So, as penance for the stolen goods here's a basket of mushrooms we picked ourselves. Not from your fields, of course, but ones by Brandy Hall." Frodo finished by shoving the basket into the surprised farmer's hands, his breath short from saying his apology in one long, quickly-said string of sentences.  
The farmer stared at them for a moment, then at the basket, confusion and surprise clear on his face.

"Well," Frodo said after a few seconds had passed. "We hope you like them. Have a good day!" And with that he began pulling Merry back towards the hill that would lead them to the river, away from Bamfurlong.

"Oi! You two!"

Frodo and Merry stopped, flinching at the farmer's rattling voice. They turned and looked back at him.

"Be careful out there. It can get dangerous out by the Brandywine."

The two hobbits stared at the farmer. That was the last thing they expected to hear from the old hobbit. Farmer Maggot's face seemed to soften for a minute as he looked at the two. But a minute later his usual scowl returned and he waved his arm wildly at them. "Now get off my property before I set my dogs on you!"

It was all the warning they needed. Frodo and Merry sprinted past the pony fence and down the hill, not stopping till they had passed the apple grove.

Farmer Maggot stood in his barn's doorway, watching the two young hobbits run off. Once they were out of sight a slight smile crept onto his lips. He looked down at the basket in his hands and reached inside, taking out the largest mushroom he could see. Popping it into his mouth, he went back inside the barn.

/

Safely away from the hill leading to Maggot's farm, Frodo and Merry walked along the small river that they had escaped in on the raft over a week ago.

"Do you want to look for your raft, Frodo?" Merry asked, munching on one of the apples the two had collected from the apple grove.

Frodo's gaze followed the narrow river, following it to where it would eventually branch into the Brandywine. He grimaced, doubt in his eyes. "I suppose we can try. But I'm afraid there may not be much left to find."

"Oh come on, Frodo," Merry said in exasperation. "Don't be such a downer. I'm gonna go look for it!" Without waiting for Frodo to respond the little hobbit burst into a sprint, dashing along the river bank. Frodo smiled and tossed away his apple core, running after his cousin.

/

Frodo was not surprised that his raft was not in the same spot it had been during the accident. There was the rock, and the same muddy slope that Strider had pulled Frodo up, but the raft was nowhere in sight.

Strider. Frodo was extremely disappointed that he had not been able to say goodbye to the man. Esmeralda said he had mentioned having business of some kind in Hobbiton. This sparked Frodo's interest greatly; he wondered if Strider was going there to meet with Gandalf the Grey at Bag End. The thought of a wizard and a ranger at his uncle's house excited him. He suddenly desperately wished he was there now, instead of searching for what he was sure to be a tattered pile of wood and rope.

The two hobbits searched along the Brandywine for half an hour. Finally, Frodo's patience had worn out. "Merry, there's nothing to find. Let's just go."

Merry ignored his cousin, continuing to pick his way through the tall grass blades and weeds.

"Merry! Come on."

"Frodo, look!" Merry bounced up and down excitedly, pointing to a tall bramble of bushes in front of him.

Frodo sighed and pushed his way over to where Merry had indicated. To his immense surprise, there was his raft.

It had been pulled a few feet up the muddy bank, slightly hidden by the surrounding brush. Upon further investigation, Frodo saw – to his delight – that it hadn't been too heavily damaged. The only major casualty it seemed to have suffered was a slight cracking of the rudder. But Frodo wasn't worried – that was easily fixable.

"What's that?" Merry gestured to the rudder's handle. There was what looked to be a rolled up piece of paper wrapped around the end of it. A frayed piece of string held it in place.

Frodo's brow creased as he removed the paper from the handle. Tugging off the string, he unrolled the paper to find that a short letter had been written on it.

"Read it out loud," demanded Merry. Frodo did as instructed.

…

_Frodo and Merry,_

_I apologize for not being able to stay long enough to say goodbye. Unfortunately, I had business elsewhere that needed attending to. However, before I left I had managed to find your raft, which had been entangled in some tree roots further downstream along the river bank. I'm sorry to say that the rudder is cracked. I do hope that it is fixable._

_I pray that you recover quickly, Frodo. Merry, keep him out of trouble, and look after yourself as well._

_Perhaps someday fate will be kind enough to bring us together again. There is a gift for you two hidden beneath the rudder of your raft. It is the symbol of a Ranger of the North. May it protect you and bring you aid when you need it. I am sorry, but I have only one to give._

_You are both brave, incredible hobbits and I am honored to have met you._

_Until we meet again,_

_Strider_

…

As soon as Frodo had finished the letter Merry dove to the ground in search of Strider's gift. Frodo stared at the words on the worn paper for a long while, drinking in all he had read. A feeling of sadness overcame him, as though a great opportunity had passed him by and he had been too timid to snatch it up. But what opportunity could that have possibly been? Running off with Strider? Going to Hobbiton? Frodo smiled to himself in amusement. The idea of him running off with a human would drive everyone in Brandy Hall absolutely mad. They wouldn't stop talking about it for years.

"_Whoa_."

Frodo turned, folding up the letter and slipping it into his breeches' pocket. In Merry's hand lay Strider's gift – still entangled within the folds of the small cloth it had been wrapped in. Merry picked it up and held it up to the sunlight.

It was a brooch of some kind. _Perhaps a cloak clasp_, Frodo thought as he stared at it. The clasp was silver – _solid silver?_ Frodo wondered – and shaped into a six-pointed star. It shimmered brightly in the sunlight as Merry tilted it back and forth, examining it with interest.

After a while, Merry held it out to Frodo, who took it carefully. The metal was cool against his skin. It felt heavy, but not particularly in the physical sense. More as if it held great importance, and had in some way been a _part_ of the previous bearer. Frodo grimaced, not sure if he liked the feeling of the clasp in his hand. He passed it back to Merry.

"You keep it."

Merry looked up at Frodo in surprise. "Really?"

Frodo nodded. "Go on. Besides, it'll look better with that pretty face of yours," he teased, trying to make his voice sound light in an attempt to hide the sudden weariness he felt.

Merry made a face at Frodo, but looked pleased at being allowed to keep the gift. He slipped the brooch into his pocket and turned back to the raft, which Frodo had already begun to inspect further.

Since the raft's rudder was cracked, the two hobbits decided that they would have to drag it back to Brandy Hall. They put it in the Bandywine River and partially untied one of the many ropes that held the wooden boards and logs together. Frodo took the end of the rope, and gave himself the job of pulling the raft downstream while walking beside it on the bank. Merry was given a long branch to use as a way to keep the raft from drifting into the riverbank as Frodo pulled it. And thus they set off.


End file.
